


Undone

by Level20Lesbian



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, If Tamsyn Muir is allowed to write AU fics of her book in her own book, Role Reversal, Then I sure as hell can too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28399833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Level20Lesbian/pseuds/Level20Lesbian
Summary: This isn't how it happens.Harrow Nova, discarded and replaced for failing to be born a necromancer, desires only to serve her house, to make her existence worth its cost. Being cavalier primary to her usurper, Gideon Nonagesimus, necromantic heir to the House of the Ninth, is her one and only shot.A continuation of the alternate timeline from Chapter 40 of Harrow the Ninth.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have survived the holidays and am writing again, and because I'm an absolute disaster I decided to start a new one instead of continuing my other Locked Tomb fic. It's hardly original, but it's fun and it's a decent exercise. I still want to write the other one, too, so I'm gonna try to alternate between them. I'm hoping to get at least one chapter for each out each week, but I am making no promises, as usual.
> 
> The plan for this one is to pretty much follow the book except with Gideon and Harrow swapped, hence the chapter count. I'm considering Chapter 40 of HtN as replacing the first three chapters of GtN, so we're starting with a new version of Chapter 4 (Harrow pulling Gideon into her plan, or, in this case, Gideon pulling Harrow into her plan) and going on from there. You should probably read Chapter 40 again first, because it's basically the first chapter of this fic - just ignore the part where Abigail and Magnus show up at the end.

In the end, Harrow had not killed Ortus Nigenad. 

She had wanted to, of course. Tried, even, but when - for the very first time in her seventeen years - Harrow had actually attempted to be around the cavalier primary, he was nowhere to be found. Ortus had, undoubtedly, told the Reverend Daughter about what had happened at the altar, and she had conspired to keep the two separate for the entirety of the month since their confrontation, so Harrow had neither seen nor heard anything from the two despite all her efforts.

The Reverend Father and Mother had evidently  _ not _ been informed, which was a small mercy, as they surely would have had her stuck on permanent oss duty until the heir and her cavalier had departed the Ninth House. Aiglamene, on the other hand,  _ had  _ found out, as evidenced by the thorough dressing-down she had received during warmups two days later.

“You forget yourself, Harrow Nova,” the elderly swordswoman had said. “ _ Attempted murder _ . Really. Honestly, I had thought you significantly smarter.”

“It was an honorable duel; a properly issued challenge” Harrow had replied.

“Like hell it was. You are not a cavalier, Nova, no matter how good you are with that sword or what ancient weapons you pilfer, and only cavaliers or their necromancers can challenge each other to single combat. You know this. And besides, so what if you had won? The Reverend Father and Mother would never have accepted the results. They would have been plenty happy to have an excuse to be rid of you.”

“They would have had no other choice. I am the only other viable option. They would be fools to throw away this opportunity simply because they despise me.”

Aiglamene had looked at her then, and Harrow would have  _ vastly  _ preferred anger or reproach or even disappointment to the  _ pity _ she saw in those eyes. “Such a quick study, and yet still you do not understand,” Aiglamene said. “The more you struggle against the Ninth, Nova, the deeper it takes you; the louder you curse it, the louder they’ll have you scream.”

Harrow had not known precisely what Aiglamene had meant by that at the time, but now, as the days ticked ever closer to the Reverend Daughter’s departure and every attempt Harrow made to demand that she be taken seriously was utterly ignored, she realised the truth of her teacher’s words. She had miscalculated. She had assumed that the Reverend Father and Mother’s loyalty to the Tomb would win out over their resentment of their failure, their mistake; that they would do what was best for the Ninth House in the end. She had been wrong.

Clearly, Harrow needed a new plan. There had to be a way. There had to be  _ something  _ she could do to properly serve the Ninth, to properly honor the Ninth, to make herself useful, to make herself  _ worth it _ . She would find it, or she would die trying.

It was during one of her many sessions brainstorming this subject, standing outside near the drillshaft and going through her drills with her rapier, that Harrow heard the voice she hated more than anything else in the entire goddamned universe, shouting from behind her: “Yo! Harrow!”

Harrow grit her teeth, closed her eyes, and focused on her sword. Perhaps, she thought, if she just ignored it, the voice would go away. That had never worked before, of course, but there was a first time for everything.

“Oi, Harrow. Put the sword down, we gotta talk.”

Harrow opened her eyes and looked straight into brilliant amber. Standing in front of her now, squatted down so that the two were eye level - which was  _ fucking _ infuriating - was the Reverend Daughter, in a shirt and trousers, black robes of office slung irreverently over one shoulder, skull paint incompetently applied, and sporting one of her trademark dumbass grins.

“Hello, Your Grace,” Harrow said, sheathing her rapier and standing begrudgingly at attention. “Apologies, I did not hear you approach.” 

“Cut the bullshit, Harrow,” said the Reverend Daughter. “And the ‘Your Grace-s’ and ‘my Lady-s.’ You know I can’t fucking stand that shit.” Harrow did know. It was, in fact, the only thing that made her feel better about being required by duty to use the honorifics. “C’mon, this is important.” 

“Of course, my Lady,” Harrow said, repressing a grin at the grimace on the other girl’s face. “What do you require of your loyal servant?” 

“I need a cavalier.” 

Harrow blinked. “I do not understand. You have a cavalier, my Lady.” 

“And a fat lot of good it’s doing me,” said the Reverend Daughter. “Look, Ortus is a good dude, but we both know he’s fucking useless. If I’m gonna go get immortalized or whatever, I need somebody that can hold their own against anything tougher than a gentle breeze.”

“I have proposed as much,” said Harrow. “I have been denied.”

“Which is  _ total bullshit _ . Harrow, if your parents have such a hate-on for you that they won’t admit you’re the best option, that’s their problem, but I’m not about to let that fuck  _ my  _ shit up.”

Harrow could not fully keep the fury out of her voice when she said, “They are not  _ my  _ parents,  _ Nonagesimus _ . I have been  _ disowned _ , as you will recall.”

The Reverend Daughter, the new heir of the Ninth, Harrowhark’s usurper, straightened out and ran a hand through her red hair. “Fuck, fine, sorry. Look, I know you hate me, Harrow. I’m not an idiot. It’s honestly completely justified, even. Well, mostly. But I’m offering the chance of a  _ lifetime  _ here, Nova. A  _ hundred _ lifetimes, if everything goes according to plan. You get to do your duty or whatever it is that makes you want this so bad, I get a cavalier that’s worth a shit, and we  _ both  _ get to stick it to your…  _ my  _ parents.”

“The decision has been made,” said Harrow. “It does not matter what I do, or how few choices they have, they will not let me go, and you cannot change their minds.” The Reverend Daughter smirked.

“I didn’t say anything about changing their minds, and I  _ definitely  _ didn’t say anything about ‘ _ let _ ,’” she said. 

That got Harrow’s attention, which she hated. If the Reverend Daughter was proposing what she thought…

“ _ You  _ are gonna go with me to the First, and  _ Ortus  _ is gonna get on a shuttle with his mother and go back to the Eighth to finish writing his poem or whatever the fuck, and by the time the Reverend Father and Mother realize what’s happened it’ll be too late for them to do a goddamn thing about it. Win, win, win, they lose.”

Harrow furrowed her brow. It was… not ideal. Going against the Reverend Father and Mother without a perfectly good, honorable reason, and sneaking around and scheming and plotting to betray them was _ not  _ what Harrow had had in mind. Yes, she needed to be cavalier primary. No, her relationship with her ex-parents was not the best. But this was a little bit treasonous at best, and a  _ lot  _ treasonous at worst, depending on exactly what ridiculous plan the Reverend Daughter had come up with. 

But it was the best chance she had. She could always do penance later.

“Fine,” said Harrow. “I will go along with your plan, Reverend Daughter.”

“Fan- _ tastic _ ,” exclaimed the Reverend Daughter, clapping a hand on Harrow’s back and leaving it there as she steered her away from the drillshaft, which was without a doubt the worst thing that had happened to Harrow for at  _ least  _ a year. She could feel her face heating up beneath her immaculate paint - with anger, of course - and that did  _ not  _ make it any better.

“We’ve got some more planning to do, if we’re gonna do this,” said the Reverend Daughter. “Also, you really, deeply,  _ truly _ have to stop with the formal shit. You’re gonna give me migraines, which, believe me, does not make necromancy any easier. For God’s sake, just call me Gideon.”


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the fact that the Reverend Father and Mother had repurposed an entire room into a personal library specifically for their adopted heir, it was the very last place in all of Drearburh anyone would think to look for the Reverend Daughter Gideon Nonagesimus. Her total lack of interest in her studies and inability to sit still long enough to get through any book that wasn’t at least ninety-two percent pictures became apparent very quickly after being given the room, and it had forever after gone woefully unattended. This made it a very good choice of location for clandestine planning sessions.

“No retainers, no attendants, no domestics,” said Harrow, reading aloud from the second letter they had received from the Emperor detailing their pilgrimage. She sat neatly in a black cushioned chair, which she had dusted off meticulously and thoroughly examined before sitting in. Gideon lay diagonally across a couch across from her in a manner which seemed extraordinarily uncomfortable to Harrow, one leg set atop the opposite knee and one arm draped loosely over the side while the other held a magazine over her face.

“Gonna get plenty of alone time, you and me,” she said without looking away from her apparently captivating literature, in a tone that veered entirely too close to suggestive for Harrow’s liking. She decided to simply not engage with it.

“It will be only the adepts and their cavaliers and the attendants of the First, then,” Harrow said.

“Yup,” said Gideon, still without even the most cursory of glances at Harrow, who was beginning to get irritated.

“And do you have any other ideas as to what we may expect to find on arrival? Any intel on the other houses who will be in attendance?” she tried.

“Nope,” said Gideon, raising her other hand to turn the magazine’s page, giving Harrow a brief glance at a pair of women who seemed to have misplaced all of their clothing. That was about as much as she could take.

“ _ Nav! _ ”

That got Gideon’s attention. Nobody, absolutely nobody, ever referred to her with the name she’d been given when she had originally arrived on the Ninth. It had been stricken out of the record, replaced by the birthright she had stolen. Gideon set the magazine down on her chest and looked at Harrow, a touch of surprise in her eyes that Harrow took a moment to savor before continuing.

“We are  _ supposed _ to be devising a strategy, my Lady,” she said. “A plan of action. Preparing ourselves to represent our house. At the very least, figuring out how we are getting me on the shuttle with you.”

Gideon finally sat up. “Oh, the last one’s easy. We’re just gonna stick you in a trunk and have Ortus carry you on.” She gave Harrow a wide, toothy grin that indicated she enjoyed the idea a little too much.

“You want me to  _ what _ ?”

“C’mon Harrow, you’re weeny as hell, you’ll fit in one of my robe trunks with room to spare. And good ol’ mum and dad are gonna be watching the shuttle the whole time so you’re not gonna be able to just sneak on.”

“And what of Ortus?”

“Gonna just shove him out the door right as we take off so it looks like my fault. Couple of scraped knees, no biggie. Then he and his mom are getting on another shuttle for the eighth; his dad’s turned into a real jackass since Ortus took over cavalier shit and they’ve been looking for an out for ages.”

“And this is the absolute best you could come up with,” Harrow said, unbelieving.  _ This  _ was what she was stuck with.

“Yup,” said Gideon. She sounded proud of herself, and she had another one of those infuriatingly smug looks on her face. “That’s your one out, Nova. Take it or leave it.”

“I am concerned,” said Harrow with a frown, “that you are not taking this  _ seriously _ , Reverend Daughter.”

Gideon waved her off and laid back down on her couch. “What’s to take seriously. We get off the Ninth to go hang out with some other badasses for a few weeks, take some boring classes like  _ Skeleton Analysis  _ and  _ History of Some Blood  _ or some shit, probably do some kind of weirdo ritual and boom! The Ninth gets its favor from God, I get even cooler magic powers and a ticket away from this rock for ten thousand years, and you get to satisfy your honor or whatever.”

Harrow goggled at her. This was the greatest opportunity anyone in her house had ever been presented with. This was the greatest opportunity anyone in  _ any  _ of the houses had ever been presented with. It was a chance at  _ ascension _ , the right to spend the rest of eternity as the Lord Undying’s fingers and gestures. And worse, it should have been  _ hers _ . This is what she had been  _ created _ for, and not only had this absolute buffon supplanted her and stolen it before it had even ever been on the table, Gideon didn’t begin to come within a lightyear of understanding what it was she had been called to do. Hell, she didn’t even seem to have the goddamn decency to  _ want  _ it.

Harrow stood and quickly crossed the room to stand over Gideon. She snatched the magazine out of her hands and got right up in the Reverend Daughter’s horrendously unpainted face.

“Listen to me, Nonagesimus. We are going to go to the First. You are going to, at the  _ bare  _ minimum,  _ pretend _ that you are not an embarrassment to your house and the name that you stole. You are going to  _ pretend  _ that the scion of the Ninth House is not an illiterate peon.”

“I object to illiterate,” Gideon interjected.

“This,” Harrow hissed, waving the magazine in front of Gideon’s face, “is not  _ literature _ , you ass.”

“I read them for the articles.” Harrow tossed the “articles” in question into the corner and stomped her heel down on Gideon’s foot.

“Ow, hey! What the fuck, Har-”

“God help me, Gideon, you are going to uphold  _ my  _ birthright. I will drag you into it kicking and screaming if I absolutely must. I am your only option as much as you are mine, and if you force me I will do everything in my power to make you regret it, regardless of the lamentable fact that you continue to be my superior by technicality. When we are with the other houses, I assure you I will be the picture of fealty, but if you cannot uphold your end of the bargain then my own efforts are meaningless.”

Gideon stared. Her expression had shifted over the course of Harrow’s tirade from shock to indignation to something like fascination. That stupid little smirk came back, and Harrow’s final, razor-thin thread of patience snapped right in half.

“And paint your goddamn face!” she said, and spun on her heel to storm out of the room. It was childish, beneath her, but  _ God  _ it felt good.

“You know,” Gideon called after her, “it’s kinda hot when you’re angry!”


End file.
